Honor
by thelinebetween
Summary: Death before dishonor?


Insert Standard Disclaimer Here.

* * *

She runs.

The action is not unusual to her, it is something she does when she's happy, or nervous, or his deep baritone instructs her to when they come across a lesser demon –

There will be no more of that.

Branches from above pull angrily at her hair and clothes, sometimes even stinging her face, but she does not slow, not even when branches from below attempt to tug her feet from under her, imploring her to stop and think.

She imagines the crazy mess she would appear to anyone watching.

Jaken had always called her a little fawn, with big doe eyes, long skinny limbs, and a prancing gait with endurance that allowed her to keep going long past what a mere teenage human should be able to run,

And here she was, kimono coming unraveled, hair tangled and matted, sprinting as if her life depended on it.

She supposes that it doesn't, actually.

Not anymore.

A growl stops her in her tracks, and she turns to face the predator. Yellow eyes begin to glow, and slowly three brown snarling creatures rise from the darkness to greet her.

How morbidly ironic.

If she had been able to, she might have giggled.

It always ended with wolves.

They observe her silently, watching for an opening.

She gives them one.

In one smooth motion, she is spinning, dropping to her knees and giving them her back.

Her head bows – she has already experienced this death once before. She doesn't feel the need to watch again.

Their paws are loud and seem to boom along with her heart against the grass, and as she hears the warning snarls, she glances up at the waxing moon, spirit somewhat soothed by the fact that its beauty would be the last her eyes ever gazed upon—

Silence.

Her head lifts timidly and she automatically rises at the deep voice that commands her to.

She does not turn.

She did not want him to see her this way.

He growls, not the menacing growl of a hungry wolf, but a warning that demands her obedience.

The world is spinning, and with wobbly, unsure steps she manages to turn in a half circle before hitting her knees once more.

She is glad that her vertigo prevents her from seeing the disgust on his face, but nothing can block the sound of his sharp intake of breath as the moonlight illuminates her form.

She imagines the crazy mess she must appear to him.

Her kimono was coming unraveled and in tatters, barely enough of it left to cover her body, much less the angry black and blue bruises marring her pale skim, her hair tangled and matted with large clumps yanked out of it, not all from her midnight run, soot smeared on her cheeks but it still wasn't dark enough to hid the gash above her left eye.

She knew with his keen sense of smell there was no hiding it from him.

The loud thump right next to her scares her, shocking her from her misery. Shaking her head to clear the dizziness, her heart stops when she realizes that her lord and master has fallen to his knees in front of her.

He is silent, but reaches out his strong pale hand to stroke her cheek. To see pity in his eyes, from him of all people makes her wish she was dead.

She flinches before he can make contact, and he pulls away as if burned.

Her parched lips crack open with effort, and she pushes the words past her dry hoarse throat.

His eyes bleed red at her audacity, and in the blink of an eye he has risen and she is cradled against him.

He has not held her this way since she was a little girl, and even now, despite everything, she still feels invincible when he holds her.

The bubbling steam of the hot springs is like salve to her soul, but she is exhausted now and he unwraps what is left of the once luxurious kimono he had given her last spring from her fragile body, visibly forcing himself to swallow his demonic rage at the sight of the red stickiness clinging to her inner thighs.

Laying her against a smooth rock, he removes his armor and swords before lifting her again and wading into the warm water. The feel of him ever so gently rinsing her skin is heavenly, yet horrifying.

He, in all of his glory and perfection, should not be touching what is dirty, and though she can barely move she attempts to fight him, wishing she could break free and drown.

He pins her tightly to his chest.

She is not a dishonor, not now, not ever. She is his, and that will never change.

The words, meant to soothe, only make her sob, as she tries to make him see that she is used, she is dirty, there is no honor in keeping her, just a weak, useless human wh—

His next words stop her cold.

Does she love her lord?

Her answer is immediate and without thought. Yes, more than anything in this world, or the next.

* * *

The sensation of his sharp canines plunging deep into the hollow of her neck is painful,

But his strength fills her and she is his.

She is most honored, most loved, most completely and utterly his.

Rin smiles and Sesshoumaru's eyes fade back to amber.


End file.
